The rest of the afternoon passed without any major disasters.
Which, considering how the day had been going, felt like a miracle.
I focused on work.
Answered emails.
Updated schedules.
Checked travel arrangements.
Every so often, someone would glance in my direction.
Word about the confrontation had clearly spread.
I pretended not to notice.
Eventually, my phone rang.
The moment I saw the caller ID, my good mood disappeared.
Mom.
I answered anyway.
"Hello?"
"Don't forget to visit your grandmother."
No greeting.
No "How was your first day?"
Just straight to business.
I closed my eyes briefly.
"I won't forget."
"You always say that."
There was a familiar edge to her voice.
The same one I'd heard for years.
"Your brother visited her yesterday."
I remained silent.
"And your sister visited two days ago."
"I said I'd go."
She sighed.
The kind of sigh that somehow managed to sound disappointed and annoyed at the same time.
"You could learn something from them."
The words weren't new.
Neither was the feeling they left behind.
No matter what I did, it never seemed to be enough.
Not for her.
I had spent years chasing approval that never came.
Eventually, I'd stopped chasing.
But sometimes it still hurt.
"I'll visit her after work."
"See that you do."
The call ended.
Just like that.
I stared at my phone for a moment before slipping it back into my pocket.
Then I returned to work.
Work, at least, made sense.
People gave you tasks.
You completed them.
Simple.
Families were harder.
---
By the time I left the office, I felt exhausted.
Not physically.
Mentally.
Emotionally.
The kind of tired that settles deep in your bones.
The hospital could wait another hour.
I needed a break first.
That's how I ended up in a small café a few streets away from the company building.
It was warm.
Quiet.
And thankfully, not crowded.
Perfect.
I ordered a coffee and found a table near the window.
For the first time all day, I allowed myself to relax.
No schedules.
No managers.
No expectations.
Just coffee.
Peace.
And ten minutes where nobody needed anything from me.
Honestly, it felt amazing.
---
A few minutes later, my order was called.
I stood and walked to the counter.
Without really paying attention, I grabbed the nearest cup and turned around.
"Excuse me."
I stopped.
A man stood behind me.
He wore a black mask and sunglasses despite being indoors.
Normally, I would've found that strange.
In this city?
Not so much.
Half the entertainment industry walked around like undercover spies.
The man pointed at the cup in my hand.
"I think that's mine."
I looked down.
Then immediately felt my face heat up.
The name on the cup definitely wasn't mine.
"Oh."
I quickly handed it over.
"Sorry."
The man chuckled.
"It's okay."
I grabbed my actual coffee from the counter.
For a moment, we stood there awkwardly.
The situation should've ended there.
Instead, he glanced at me and asked,
"Long day?"
The question caught me off guard.
Maybe because he sounded genuinely interested.
Most people asked questions while already thinking about something else.
This felt different.
"First day at a new job," I admitted.
His eyebrows lifted slightly above his sunglasses.
"Really?"
I nodded.
"Really."
He laughed softly.
"That explains the exhausted expression."
"I thought I was hiding it."
"You weren't."
I sighed.
"Great."
"Don't worry. Everyone looks like that on their first day."
Something about his voice felt familiar.
Not familiar enough to recognize.
Just enough to make me feel like I'd heard it somewhere before.
I couldn't place it.
---
We ended up talking longer than I expected.
About work.
About the city.
About annoying coworkers.
Nothing particularly important.
Yet somehow, the conversation felt easy.
Comfortable.
Like talking to an old friend you hadn't seen in years.
I didn't even know his name.
And strangely, I didn't ask.
Neither did he.
For a while, we existed in a weird little bubble where names didn't matter.
Just two strangers sharing coffee and complaining about life.
At one point, he laughed at something I said.
A genuine laugh.
The sound made me smile without meaning to.
His shoulders relaxed too.
As if he wasn't used to conversations where nobody expected anything from him.
The thought struck me as oddly sad.
Then again, maybe I was imagining things.
---
Eventually, he checked his watch.
"I should go."
The words sounded almost reluctant.
I nodded.
"Me too."
For a brief moment, neither of us moved.
Then he gave me a small smile.
At least, I assumed it was a smile.
The mask made it difficult to tell.
"Good luck with the new job."
"Thanks."
He turned and headed toward the door.
A few seconds later, he disappeared into the evening crowd outside.
And that was that.
Or so I thought.
I returned to my coffee.
Finished it.
And completely forgot about the conversation.
At the time, it felt like nothing more than a brief encounter between strangers.
A random conversation in a café.
Nothing important.
Nothing memorable.
Looking back now, I wish I had paid closer attention.
By the time I arrived at the hospital, the sky had already started to darken.
The nurses greeted me with familiar smiles as I walked through the entrance.
I'd been coming here so often over the past few years that most of them knew me by name.
Or rather, by the name my grandmother insisted on calling me.
"Mr. Snuggles is here," one nurse announced with a grin.
I groaned.
"Please don't encourage her."
The nurse laughed.
"No promises."
---
My grandmother was sitting by the window when I entered her room.
The moment she saw me, her entire face lit up.
Every trace of the restlessness she'd been feeling earlier disappeared instantly.
"Mr. Snuggles!"
She held out her arms.
I didn't even try to resist.
I crossed the room and hugged her.
She squeezed me surprisingly tight for someone her age.
"There you are," she said.
"I was looking for you."
A lump formed in my throat.
"I'm sorry."
"You took forever."
"I had work."
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
"Work is stupid."
I laughed.
"That's a little harsh."
"Still stupid."
I couldn't argue with that.
---
We spent the next hour talking.
Or rather, she talked while I listened.
Some stories made sense.
Others didn't.
One moment she was talking about my grandfather.
The next she was describing a dog she'd owned forty years ago.
Then suddenly she was asking if I'd finished my homework.
I was twenty-three years old.
Apparently, that didn't matter.
The illness had taken many things from her.
Dates.
Names.
Memories.
But somehow, it had never taken her ability to love.
She held my hand throughout most of the visit.
Sometimes squeezing it gently, as if checking that I was still there.
And every single time, I squeezed back.
Because one day there would come a moment when she wouldn't remember me anymore.
A day when Mr. Snuggles would disappear too.
I hated thinking about it.
So instead, I focused on the present.
On this moment.
On the sound of her laughter.
On the warmth of her hand.
On the simple comfort of being loved.
---
When it was finally time to leave, she looked disappointed.
"You're going already?"
"I have to."
"You'll come back?"
The question broke my heart a little.
Because she asked it every time.
As if she thought I might not return.
I squeezed her hand.
"I'll come back."
She studied my face for a moment.
Then nodded.
"Good."
As I turned to leave, she called after me.
"Goodnight, Mr. Snuggles."
I smiled.
"Goodnight, Grandma."
For once, she remembered who I was.
And somehow, that made leaving even harder.
---
By the time I got home, I was exhausted.
It had been one of the longest days of my life.
My first day at Rider Entertainment.
The confrontation at work.
The strange conversation in the café.
The hospital visit.
I changed into comfortable clothes and collapsed onto my bed.
Finally.
Peace.
For a few minutes, I scrolled mindlessly through social media.
Nothing unusual.
Photos.
Videos.
Advertisements.
Then a notification appeared.
Rider uploaded a new post.
My thumb stopped moving.
Immediately, I opened it.
Some habits never die.
---
The photo looked casual.
The members stood together somewhere backstage, smiling at the camera.
The kind of content fans loved.
Natural.
Relaxed.
Friendly.
My gaze automatically found Charlie.
Of course it did.
Even after all these years, it always did.
He stood near the center of the photo, smiling that easy smile of his.
The same smile that had somehow helped me survive some of the loneliest years of my life.
I stared for a moment.
Then something caught my attention.
A dark hoodie.
My eyes narrowed.
I leaned closer.
The hoodie looked familiar.
Very familiar.
My brain immediately replayed a memory.
A man standing in a café.
A black mask.
Sunglasses.
A cup of coffee.
My stomach dropped.
Slowly, I looked back at the photo.
Then at the hoodie again.
Then back at the photo.
No way.
Absolutely no way.
---
"I think that's mine."
The voice echoed in my head.
The stranger's voice.
The one I'd spent half an hour talking to.
The one that had felt strangely familiar.
My eyes widened.
I sat upright so quickly I nearly dropped my phone.
"No."
I zoomed in.
The hoodie.
The build.
The voice.
The laugh.
The kindness.
Every piece suddenly clicked into place.
The stranger in the café.
The man whose coffee I'd accidentally taken.
The person I'd casually complained about my terrible first day to.
Was Charlie.
I covered my mouth with one hand.
For several seconds, I simply stared at the screen.
My brain refused to process it.
Of all the people in the city.
Of all the cafés.
Of all the possible strangers.
It had been him.
---
Then I started laughing.
Not because it was funny.
Because I genuinely didn't know what else to do.
I laughed until my stomach hurt.
Laughed until tears gathered in my eyes.
Because somehow, against all logic, I'd spent thirty minutes talking to Charlie without realizing it.
If Ji-hyuk ever found out, I would never hear the end of it.
Ever.
I fell back onto my pillow and stared at the ceiling.
My life had become ridiculous.
Completely ridiculous.
And somehow, for the first time in a long while, that felt nice.
---
Eventually, my laughter faded.
The room became quiet again.
I looked at the photo one last time.
Then locked my phone.
A strange feeling settled in my chest.
Hope.
For the first time in years, it felt like my life was moving forward.
Like something good was finally happening.
Like maybe things were changing.
I smiled as I closed my eyes.
What I didn't know was that happiness had never arrived in my life without a price attached to it.
Every good thing had always been followed by something else.
Something darker.
Something waiting just around the corner.
And somewhere out there, already moving toward me, was the cost of this happiness.
I just hadn't met it yet.